


You Never Listen

by jla2016



Category: Sebastian Stan - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sebastian Stan Oneshot, Sebastian Stan x Original Female Character, sebastian stan fanfic, sebastian stan one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jla2016/pseuds/jla2016





	You Never Listen

I rose from the couch, needing a break and a good stretch from the countless numbers of hours my husband and I had been binging Pixar films, crying and laughing all the while.

"Babe, I need a break, I'm going to clean up this mess for a few minutes." Sebastian whimpered in response.

"Noooo," he complained drawing out the word to an almost obnoxious length. "Don't clean. Stay here with me," he attempted to pull me back down but I was able to yank my wrist from him just in time. 

"Seb, we have to clean up at some point and honestly, I need some time off the couch for a change. I feel as though I've been bedridden for two months and I'm beginning to get pressure sores." He rolled his eyes quickly and scoffed. 

"Fine then. I'm going to stretch out and take up the entire couch then." His slender body quickly stretched the entire length of the couch and he snapped the tiny blue velvet and créme dappled cashmere blanket that barely covered half of him and pulled it up under his chin as if I was going to try and stop him. It was then my turn to roll my eyes and instead of scoffing, I simply grinned and shook my head. I felt my auburn hair begin to fall out of the loose bun Sebastian had tied up for me earlier as I cried within the first scenes of Up and my grown-out curtain bangs kept getting caught in wet from the tears. I pulled the hair tie out and I saw the blonde ends still holding strong, but it wouldn't be long before they were completely grown out and it would be back to its normal burnt sienna shade. I looked forward to it so that I could begin experimenting with something else again.

"Seb, don't you want to go back blonde when I do my hair next?" I asked, picking up the bowls and plates and stacking them to carry a bulk to the kitchen. 

"Do I want to because I want to," he asked shiftily, "or do I want to because you want me to?" He grinned mischievously so that just the tips of his teeth showed and I could tell by the way his lips sat, that tongue would soon make its way to the corner of his mouth. Sure enough two seconds of silence passed and my prediction was correct. I simply deadpanned in his direction, halting on the clean-up, holding the look for about five seconds in total before returning to the dirty dished and half-empty take-out containers. 

"I surprised myself that I liked it blonde. It isn't my preference, but it's something different. I was just asking."

"Oh, but there was so much behind that asking, wasn't there?" He began to sit up which put him in punching reach and I knew he was doing it just for that purpose. If I gave into his teasing and attempted to lay hands on him, he would pull me back onto the couch with him and I could let go the idea of cleaning up. I held my ground and with arms full, I began retreating to the kitchen but not before I cast the guillotine words over my shoulder: "Do whatever you'd like; as long as you don't grow that fucking Gillooly 'stache back I don't care."

I quickly emptied my arms on the kitchen counter as I heard his feet hit the floor and the shuffling grew to a boisterous level. I knew he would be behind me in a flash. I was right, he quickly grabbed my waist from behind, prodding and caressing my sides causing my body to spasm and erupt with laughter and squeals.

"No! Seb," I said in between laughs and when I had the lung capacity. "Seb, stop. Mercy, please!"

"You can just pretend it's my mustache tickling your sides." I couldn't help but laugh harder at his response. I caught sight of his eyes and saw the shift. They flashed and I could practically see the fire light within as his tickling became less tickle-like and more licentious. He gripped my waist tightly and picked me up. I let him, monkeying my legs around his slim hips. He held me there for a moment as I could feel multiple levels and areas of tension. 

Tension seemed almost visible as we scrutinized each others' features. Tension in the air solidified almost synchronously with the throbbing I felt through our sweats. I tightened my grip on his hips as his hands rose quickly to my scalp, long, thin fingers extending into my hair and then scrunching in order to gently tug a handful. He stepped forward abruptly, shocking us both, I believe, and when he did, I felt it before I could react. There were excruciatingly loud crashes as about seven glass and ceramic dishes hit the tile floor with an exquisite amount of force. 

"Shit!" I exclaimed. "Fuck me! I can't." I pulled away from Sebastian with more force than I meant to, consequently slamming my head into the glass-encased white cabinets. The glass in the cabinet busted and I felt the sharp pain as the glass shards cut into my scalp. "DAMN IT! FU- OWWW!"

"Oh shit, Em. Are you okay?" Sebastian had nothing but concern on his face but I was livid and in pain which definitely didn't lead to a calm and forgiving disposition. How it had taken this long for some shit like this to happen, I'd forever be amazed. 

"Yes, Sebastian, I'm just freaking peachy. Our good wedding china is broken because your dumbass wanted to be fancy and shit and now my head has cuts and gashes in it. I'm fucking perfect. Fucking move out of my way and be careful where you step."

"No, Em. You stay there, I'm going to run a towel here with some water and then I'll-"

"No, you fucking won't. You'll move out of the damn way." I reached out and pushed him in the direction of what looked to be a clear path lacking in broken shards. He stepped out of the way as quickly as possible, attempting to miss anything that would cut open his foot. I grabbed the ashen towel from beside the sink as I hopped down, careful of where I stepped and placed it on the back of my head.

He turned away from me long enough to go grab the broom from the corner of the micro kitchen. I began following him.

"I'll clean this up and you can go-" he began to say before turning around, surprised to see me right there.

"No, I've got it. I don't need you to do anything else." Even I could feel the heat generating and emanating from my pores so that it wasn't surprising to see the Aegean nuances that always appeared and began to circuit around his normally cerulean iris' when he began to get angry. "Good," I thought, "Let's fucking do this."

"Em," he began, attempting to remain calm, "I'm sorry that I broke the dishes and that your head is hurt, cut open to be exact, but why do I feel like your reaction is a little ove-....out-of-character."

"Overboard, huh?" I swiped the broom from his hands, turned, and began sweeping up all of the fractured shards. "You want to know what's not overboard? This minuscule fucking kitchen. I've been telling you for four damn years this kitchen is too small. Yet, do you listen? No, you don't. We just keep on trying to cook together, burning each other all the time because we can't move one inch without bumping into one another or we drop dishes of food making a mess that one of us has to clean up, normally me. Not to mention that trying to entertain for your damn famous friends is a motherfucking nightmare." I got the last bits of shards into one final pile, sweeping them into the pan, and walked over to the trash, proceeding to slam the shards in there so there was more clatter and breaking into smaller pieces. 

"Woah. Hold the fucking phone, Emily. First off, we both tend to be pretty clumsy so I don't think you should blame the light burnings and spilled dishes on the size of the kitchen. Sec0nd, I do fucking clean this apartment. I've always cleaned this damn apartment and I've been doing just fine with this kitchen for longer than the four years you say you've been telling me we need a bigger one. Plus, I don't recall you say-"

"Yes, Sebastian, we're both clumsy. Yes, you clean, but that doesn't invalidate my argument and you damn-well-know it. Oh, and I'm sorry, I'm so glad you could live just fine in this small kitchen without me for all those years. I can make this kitchen great for you once more." I strode off, stomping all of the way, past Sebastian's motionless stupefied position. The veins I could see in his arms from his clenched hands seemed to be physically vibrating and his cheeks has lost quite a bit of its typical cool tawny color yet I pushed forward. I reached the restroom we shared and slammed the door, causing the containers on the counter to do a small shimmy. I heaved the kitchen towel I had laid around my neck while sweeping against the wall with all the strength I had in my body. However, the blood that had clotted from the wounds must have reopened and somehow it hurt like hell. "OW! Fuck!!"

I was even more angry now at the wounds so I began grabbing other towels and unbreakable things in the bathroom and began throwing those against the wall. I had often used this strategy of anger management since I was young. Whenever my parents would piss me off I would pick up shoes and throw them against the clothes hanging in my closet as hard as I could, so as not to alert anyone of my hulk-like rage, until the majority of the anger had expired. Today, it seemed, would be no different. I grabbed a clean rag out of the drawer and wet it before placing it on the back of my head in attempts to clean the wounds a little bit. They weren't that bad, I was just being overdramatic; arguments with Seb always made my dramatics 27 times worse than normal. I heard the hasty padding of Seb's feet down the hall. I turned and locked the door quickly before he reached it. The doorknob jiggled but abruptly stopped as he knew I had locked him out on purpose.

"Emi, are you alright? You know, besides the cuts and gashes in your head..." he lightly tossed my words back at me. I looked at the ceiling exasperated.

"I'm just brilliant, Sebastian," I bit back at him.

"Will you let me in?" He braved the question after a brief pause. I could hear the tension in his voice, not out of anger, but out of concern. For some reason it made me even more furious, transforming my exterior to have more the consistency of concrete than brick.

"Honestly, I don't really want to talk with you right now. Just the sound of your voice is grating my nerves."

"Shit," I could hear the surprise in his voice but I had a feeling a snarky comment was to follow. "I'm sure glad you put that bit in your vows because then I'd be worried you had divorce papers being made up in there at this very moment."

"Sebastian. Please, for the love of that small-ass kitchen, shut the fuck up. I'm not joking with you. I'm tired of that kitchen. I'm tired of you brushing it off and not doing anything about it." I finished cleaning my scalp and threw the rag in the sink before unlocking and slinging the door open so swiftly that it started the both of us. "It's like you don't even care about the way I feel about this. Oh, and I know what you were going to say earlier. You don't recall me saying that much. Well guess what, Sebastian, I didn't say a lot about it the first two years we knew each other because we weren't fucking married. I didn't have a place to, so yes, I would jokingly slip it in but after we were married I only bring it up on a monthly basis and how long have we been married, Sebastian?"

"Two years," he paused so I waited, "and I've loved you for four." 

"See, Sebastian, you think that's sweet but what you're doing is you're using that to try and melt my frustration. You're not FUCKING LISTENING! You just want it to go away and everything to go back to normal. You want me to accept that and sweep my feelings under the rug but I'm getting pretty fucking sick of sweeping up my feelings, much like those shards of our wedding dishes now, and placing them in the trash. I've been doing it for two years and I'm just getting tired of it." I sat down, somewhat beat down, and sighed. His eyes, constantly alternating and intermixing between arctic, sapphire, and even at the briefest of seconds, teal shades, had followed me as I crossed to the middle of the room, paced back and forth in front of the bed, and ultimately stopped to show him how exhausted I was by all of this. He was speechless so I continued.

"Seb, look. It may seem small to you...not the kitchen, my feelings, just to be clear...and no I don't hound you about it because in the grand scheme of things it isn't like it's going to make or break our marriage and no, I don't need a ton of fancy things; I hope you know that. I just really do feel like it'd be helpful to have a bigger kitchen. It's one thing I really would like. Sometimes I just feel like I'm living in a bachelor pad and that was fine when you were a bachelor or when we were first married...but there's two of us now-there has been for two years-and we do like to entertain. By the way, we like to entertain our friends, not just 'your famous friends.' I'm sorry I said that. They're our friends no matter what heights or depths of the well-known totem pole they're at."

"I didn't realize it bothered you that much."

"It only does sometimes. Today being one of those times apparently." There was an extended silence but I felt I had said enough for now so I let him break through the quiet in the room.

"Serious question...how many times do we really entertain, though?" My eyes made an involuntary elongated blink before opening wider than before as my head shook in shock. This is what he chose to say? I rose from the bed and backed away, still facing him, taking in the subdued amaranth rising from within.

"Are you serious? That's your response to all of this? That's your argument?"

"I'm not arguing; I'm just asking."

"Oh, but there's so much behind that question, isn't there? Go ahead, let's lay it all out on the metaphorical fucking table. Let's do this," my voice rose in decimals with each word. He rose from the bed as well. 

"Alright, fine, fucking fine, Emily. I don't understand how we were having a perfectly nice day. We enjoyed movies, laughing and crying together, snuggling, everything was fine. Then we're joking and teasing, then we're about to have sex and then seemingly out of nowhere, you lose your top. You fucking freak out over a few broken dishes and a few scratches. I didn't actually do anything to you and you act like I've ruined your life and you've been living in hell with me these past two years." He began walking towards the bedroom door. "It's like it's completely out of the blue and I don't fucking understand why we're fighting." He walked into the hallway, throwing his hands in the air, and began making his way back to the living area. I fell in pace with him quickly, right on his heels.

"Have you listened to one damned word I've said? Oh, silly me, that's my whole point in this argument, isn't it. That you don't listen to what I say or how I feel." He turned on me just as I caught up to him. 

"I listen to everything you say. In fact, I've hung onto every single word you've said to me since the day we met, believe it not. You may think I'm only attempting to diffuse a situation and 'melt' your heart and exterior when I say things like that but I'm only sharing the truth. I don't know how long or how many times I have to try and prove to you how much you mean to me."

"Just because you hear doesn't mean you listen, Sebastian!"

"Tocmai pentru că auziți nu înseamnă că ascultați, spune ea," he said wryly.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" I questioned, my anger reaching new heights.

"I didn't say anything to you!"He scolded back, pacing.

"E ca și cum ne-am căsătorit pentru o bucătărie dracului."

"Oh, speak in fucking English," I said, my voice lowering but still filled with a magnitude of frustration and annoyance. "The only reason you're speaking in Romanian is so I won't know what you're saying, but I can tell you're mocking me, you asshole."

"O batjocorește, spune ea, dacă numai ea știa ce spuneam, va râde până acum, în ciuda faptului că mă bat în realitate."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" I asked, crossing my arms and jutting out my hip to the right, full of attitude, which he turned and saw. "Yeah, I remember that word."

"Oh, you remember that word, huh? It doesn't mean that you know what I said just because you know one word."

"Oh, listen to this miracle, you're listening."

"Oh good God, woman," he cast his hands in the air, rolling his eyes simultaneously. "I told you, I listen. I listen. I-"

"Says the one who-" I attempted to interrupt him but he walked up to me and placed his hand over my mouth, silencing my rebuttal.

"I hear that you hate when I play entire film scores on repeat that don't have any lyrics in them. I hear you every other Saturday morning when you say that while you love purple, you cringe just looking at grape jam. I hear you when you mutter under your breath anytime we pass someone who has clearly just finished a huge stinky blunt. I'm listening when you tell me your ideas for how Endgame should have gone. I'm listening when you explain how to fry chicken despite how many times I've burned it because you 'have faith' in me, as you say. I'm listening when you tell me that in your dream kitchen, you'd have anchor-colored cabinetry with pewter and pearl herringbone tile on the floor and marbled granite countertops, all finished off with a clear crystal backsplash. I am listening all the time. I know you want hooks under the cabinets to hang coffee cups on and the pull-out pantries everywhere you turn like you always loved when you watched "30 Minute Meals with Rachel Ray," growing up. I know you want a double-sided fridge with a bottom freezer and an extra deep freezer somewhere else. I know all of that. I do listen. I listen and I act." His words shocked me, literally shocked me. I felt energy course through my body as if I had stuck a fork I was holding in an electrical socket. 

"Se-"

"Which is why I have something to show you, if you'll come with me." I only nodded, still moved by his words so that I no longer had any of my own. He took me by the hand and dragged me out of the apartment. As we walked through the city, we remained silent. I didn't know where he was taking me. I was still processing the concept that he remembered so many details. We ended up at East 57th. He stopped walking at 303 and dropped my hand. Out of his pocket appeared keys I had not seen before.

"What is this, Sebastian?" I questioned, curiosity blanketing my voice. He retrieved my hand once more and I followed him into the elevator where he pressed nine. "Sebastian, what is happening?" He couldn't stop himself from grinning before I saw it, but he bit his lip in an attempt to stop himself from grinning more. "Sebastian! Wha-"

"Just be patient for once in your life," he said chuckling and licking his lips as he often did when he was a little nervous. The elevator doors opened and he pulled me forward. "Alright," he stopped right outside the elevator, "now, I know it's not Riverside Drive, but I did the best I could." He handed me the mystery keys and motioned for the first door we saw. It was labeled "9C." I could only look back and forth between the door and him.

"Sebastian, what are you saying?" He gave me a gentle nudge towards the door. When I barely moved, he placed his hands on my waist and pushed me forward from behind. 

"Go ahead, unlock and open it." He grabbed my elbow to assist as he knew my brain wasn't quite connecting to my body. I unlocked the door, and pushed it open. "It's yours, not Will Truman's, but yours, " he whispered in my ear, leaning in close, arms draped around my torso. "It's ours," his tepid lips brushed my ear through my hair. He continued to guide me forward. As I walked in, I saw what appeared to be the living room. There was one couch and it resembled the one Anthony had lied about years ago during an interview, small cashmere blankets and all. To the right, my eyes widened and I could practically feel them brighten. He let me go and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, unquestionably pleased with himself. He stood, grinning, tongue moving across his lips, eyes afire, with all the attitude of Tony Stark. 

"Seb...it's...Seb...you...did this?" It was the exact kitchen I had talked about down to the colored grout. 

"You didn't know I was such a handy-man, did you?" He teased, the right side of his face constricting in attempts to not bust forth with laughter so I did so for him.

"Yeah-right," I stuttered out between giggles. I ran to him and jumped into his arms, entangling my legs around his waist. "I can't believe this, Seb, it's so beautiful!!" I showered his face with kisses, all of the rage from earlier non-existent. He caressed my back as he spun me slowly around so that I could see everything but I didn't pay it much mind. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Well," he said, placing me on the kitchen island, "planning or in the process of?"

"Both."

"I've been planning since...well...since you agreed to marry me. The process started about six months after we got married. I had to find the real estate in the city that would allow me to have it redone how we wanted. Then, of course, since you only mentioned anything on a monthly basis, it took a while to get everything designed and to the contractors and interior designers." I didn't think I could be anymore shocked than I had been only moments ago but yet again, here I was, utterly dumbfounded.

"Sebastian. I'm so sorry for being such an ass."

"Nu mă așteptam la nimic mai puțin, în plus, te iubesc mai mult decât orice în lumea asta."

"Te iubesc...I love you too." He began to kiss me gingerly, first on the lips before moving slowly to my temples and placing his hands hesitantly in my hair behind my head so as not to hurt the tiny cuts I had been so dramatic about earlier. I began to reach to his waist as his lips moved across my skin. I tugged at the hem of his shirt, simultaneously pulling him as close to me as possible and lifting ever so slightly, hoping he would get the hint.

"By the way, I didn't mean much of anything I said earlier," he mentioned quietly. "I was really just trying to get you riled up enough for...well..."

"Hot, angry sex?" I questioned bluntly. 

"Well, it is our go-to argument ender." He began to nibble across my collarbone and up my neck.

"So that's why you pick fights with me, huh?" I finished asking breathlessly as his cool hand raced up and inside the front of my shirt.

"To be honest, yes, 99% of the time." I cackled and tugged his shirt up and over his head pushing him away. I jumped down from the island simultaneously and beckoned him back. He removed my shirt and then lifted me, kissing from my neck down my torso as low as he physically could.

"So tell me, Mr. Stan, are you going to fuck me until tomorrow on this beautiful marble to officially christen this our new home?" He huffed, air caught in his throat at my unexpected words. "I can't bear to mess up that beautiful couch and it doesn't look like there's many other options." Once he gained control of his voice again, he placed mthis the island once more, this time laying me back and crawling on top of me, straddling me. He leaned in close.

"There is actually a bed," he pulled down his sweats and shook them off, "but I'll take fucking you on the counter, on the floor, in the shower, wherever you'll let me. Everything is finished and the furniture will be here." He paused, leaned back and yanked down my sweats one leg at a time. "I made sure all of it was covered in 70's plastic...does that make you angry?"

"You just want to make me angry, don't you?"

"Just enough."

"Then you know what you really need to say to me, don't you?" I thumbed his briefs, pulling on them just enough. He huffed again as my hand moved closer to him. I pretended I was in the process of removing my panties but in actuality, I just wanted to feel him throbbing for the second time that day.

"*NSYNC is the worst boy band of all time," he responded darkly. I grabbed his hand, pushing them underneath my panties and he began to work. Before we knew it all of our garments were gone and there indeed was a mess on the floor and the counters. We made our way that night to every single room of our new home. There was a tremendous amount of yelling with different intensities and various obscenities. There was hardly a place in that apartment our bodies didn't meet and we felt each other throughout the night. 

When we awoke the next morning, finally making it to the bed, we were sticky so we showered and considering there were no linens we dried off in the best way we knew how to get our bodies heated up at lightening paces, and all the while looking forward to our next fight.


End file.
